


The first dawn

by Goddess_of_the_arena



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22575295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddess_of_the_arena/pseuds/Goddess_of_the_arena
Summary: A short story about a brother and his little sister
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	The first dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Heya my readers! This is a little something I wrote in a sudden burst of inspiration, it’s set waaaay before the beginning of BG1. I hope you’ll enjoy the reading!

The boy tiptoed carefully towards the cage, a loaf of bread and a piece of cheese in his hands as his amber eyes darted around to make sure nobody would discover him in the room: he knew that children were not allowed in there, but he had heard the prisoner cry and beg the armoured men for food and…Well, he knew how awful it felt to be hungry.

He approached the caged woman as silently as he could, but her head snapped up and when her dark eyes met his, he froze, afraid she might give away his presence, terrified at the prospect of the punishment he would suffer if the priestesses knew of his disobedience. To his relief, she didn’t shout, but simply stared at him. “Please don’t scream”, he whispered, inching closer, “I brought you some food”.

She blinked and then smiled softly, “Thank you, little one”, she said, accepting the offer with gratitude and starting to eat it as soon as she had it in her hands, “What is your name?”. “I don’t have one”. The woman frowned, “You don’t?”. He shook his head, “None of the children here does. Alianna says that names are only for people, not for sacrifices”.

“Alianna?”, the prisoner asked, her eyes filling with a mixture of anger, sadness and compassion as she regarded the child in front of her. “The woman who carried me. She is carrying another child now, they say it will be born soon”. “Is your mother one of the priestesses, then?”. He nodded, “All of the children here were carried by a priestess”, he said.

The woman was horrified by that revelation: she knew that Bhaalites were merciless murderers, but to think that a mother would sacrifice _her own child_ in Bhaal’s name…How could anyone be so sick?

The boy didn’t seem to realize the full horror of it, though: he just stood there, watching her with those unusual amber eyes, so innocent and yet so intense and sad. He could have been no more than four, he was tall and strong for his age and his dark skin and dark hair suggested Sembian heritage.

“I had a son, once”, she found herself saying, “I miscarried after seven months and lost him. I still think of him every day”, she added, lips curving downwards with grief. The boy tilted his head to the side, puzzled, “You are sad. Why?”. “Because I loved my son. He did not have the chance to live, but I loved him with all my heart ever since I knew I was with child”.

“Oh”, his gaze fell to the floor and he bit his lower lip, “Is it...Is it normal out there? For a woman to love their child?”. The captive felt her heart clench in pity for the poor boy in front of her, “Yes, little one. But you should not be so sad, I am sure that your mother loves you too, in her own way”, she lied, wanting nothing more than to give him hope and comfort. The child raised his head and shot her a small, bitter smile, “She doesn’t. I am not stupid. I am nothing to her”.

She was silent for a long moment, then leaned forward, “I have a favour to ask of you, little one”, she said. He blinked and turned to shoot a quick glance at the door, then turned back to her and nodded, “If I can, I will help you”. “My son died before I could even bestow the name I had chosen upon him. Would you accept to carry that name in his memory? I am sure he would be proud to know you are named after him”.

The boy’s heart skipped a beat: him, having a name? But it was forbidden, he couldn’t...And yet, he realized that he wanted to have a name of his own, to be more than just a worthless sacrifice, to be a person in his own right, “Yes”. “Then from now on, you are Sarevok”.

“Sarevok”, he repeated, savouring the feel of it on his tongue: it was a good name, the name of someone who was strong and powerful, the name of a man who would never be a helpless victim, the name of a warrior who would protect those who were important to him and bring his enemies to their knees, “My name is Sarevok”.

“Yes. It is”, the woman smiled and felt a rush of warmth spread inside her chest. “What is your name?”, he then asked. “Margaret”, she answered, stretching an arm through the bars to shake hands with him. “Thank you, Margaret”. “No, thank you, Sarevok: I am sure you will do great things one day and you will make my son and myself proud”.

He made as if to reply, but he heard footsteps approaching and knew it was time to leave, “Goodbye, Margaret”, he shot her a small smile and dashed out of the room just in time to avoid being spotted by the armoured Deathbringer that came from a side corridor.

Margaret looked up at the warrior, knowing that her life was about to end, but she felt no more fear: soon she would be reunited with her son in the afterlife, in Ilmater’s domain.

8888888888888

Sarevok was walking back to the room where the children were kept after a quick stop to the latrine, but out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Alianna being carried by two priestesses and three Deathbringers to a small side room reserved for the delivery of the babies and he could not help following them.

Alianna was laid on a cold stone slab, helped by her fellow priestesses (a Drow and a Half-Orc) and after what seemed an eternity, when her screams of pain and her curses had died down, Sarevok heard a high-pitched sound: his sister’s first cry.

“It is a female”, the Drow woman said flatly, handing the newborn to one of the Deathbringers, “Clean her, feed her some milk and put her in a cell”. The man bowed and moved to a small table with clean cloths and a bowl of warm water, then proceeded to clean the baby and after wrapping her in a soft blanket, he walked out of the room.

Sarevok padded after him with silent steps, waited until the warrior had fed his little sister and when he saw her being placed on the floor of the cell, he walked forward, “I will lock the door”, he said and felt a shiver of satisfaction when the adult started at the sound of his voice. “Oh, it’s you. All right, boy, you’ll do it, then. I have better things to do than waste my time with you lot anyway”, the Deathbringer grumbled before leaving.

As soon as the man was gone, the boy knelt and finally had the chance to take a good look at his sister: she was small, with huge emerald green eyes that seemed to take up half of her face, her skin was for the most part still red from the delivery, but here and there he could see that its natural tone was a light pink, like that of a cherry flower and she had a few wisps of blond hair.

“Hi there, little sister”, he said, his lips curving for the first time in his life in a warm and sweet smile, “I’m your big brother. My name is Sarevok”. She made a cooing sound and her eyes lightened up as she moved a small hand as if to try and touch his face.

He chuckled and took her up in his arms, amazed at how little she weighted, “Sorry, I have no idea what you’re saying”, he joked. The baby squealed, obviously happy and snuggled against him, closing her eyes.

“You’re tired, uh? So am I. It was a long night”, he added sadly: normally, he would have been deep in slumber at that late hour, but the screams of the people being sacrificed in the midnight ritual had kept him awake, as usual. He hated those sounds. And this time it was even worse, because he knew that among those people there was also Margaret, the only one who had ever showed him kindness.

Sensing his distress, the little girl opened her eyes and cooed quizzically, looking up at his face. “I’m fine, little sister, I’m just tired”, he reassured her, stroking her head, “You know...I think you need a name. Would you like that?”. The baby let out another happy squeal and he had the feeling that she somehow had understood his words.

“All right, then. Let me think...”, Sarevok looked around himself and as he turned towards the window, he saw that the Sun was rising, the dawn bathing everything in its soft pink and orange light and making the Temple look a little less dark and nightmarish, filling him with new hope. And then he knew. He looked down at the small bundle in his arms and smiled tenderly, “Your name is Margaret Dawn”.


End file.
